Hero
by Kovukono
Summary: A lion stumbles upon a group of rogues. A series of events leads him to something that is determined to haunt him for the rest of his life: the rebirth of a goddess. Rating may change.
1. Prologue

All characters belong to me, and are not to be used without my explicit permission.

Hero

Prologue

The world had changed. The world had very nearly changed completely over into "civilization," and in the process left an even more dangerous "heathen" world behind. The days of simple prides of lions was coming to a close. They were prides no longer, but kingdoms that ruled over groups of animals. The herds had almost entirely stopped the practice of migration, instead staying in one place, the royal family ensuring that a balance of nature was kept so that there was constantly food for all.

The kingdoms had first begun to appear with the ancient councils, where lions were generally given the title of leader of the council. The lions had continued to be respected as the world evolved, becoming the de facto leaders of the animal world, being asked more and more for advice and assistance from the other animals.

But the kingdoms even then were only prides, with lions not being all that respected in terms of royalty. The first "kings" were crowned, and their pride was ruled the same as before. But some kings began to question the practice of pushing their sons out into the world. They loved their cubs, and didn't want to push any of them out into the cruel wild. They began to keep their sons, and have them inherit the kingdom.

Of course, the reason that sons were pushed out into the wild was not forgotten. Without new blood, there was fear of stagnation in the bloodline, the fear of interbreeding. Interbreeding did occur to a degree, but much less than was expected. Lions were not allowed to mate with direct relatives, instead being forced to give cubs only to lionesses whose blood was relatively different. There were prides that did mate inside their bloodline, but they died out quickly though miscarriages and genetic diseases, though there were rumors of prides such as that still existing.

Due to the practice of keeping sons, prides became larger. The males stayed in the pride, and more and more lionesses' cubs grew up due to the fact that the males of a pride now stood as one to defeat any rogues that might attempt to assert dominance over the pride. There were some prides that swelled to over one hundred lions, but they were the rarity. The kings wouldn't allow the pride to become too large; to do so would be to shift the delicate balance of nature they held in the kingdom.

Kings began to keep their sons, and fewer and fewer lions were cast out into the wild. Rogues became almost nonexistent, as all sons were kept inside their kingdoms. Instead, the wild became a place to put all of the kingdoms' refuse, the criminals, the filth. Instead of being a place almost every animal ventured out into at least once in their life, the wild was a place of fear. The animals who lived there were considered hostile and dangerous, and were even more feared than the rogues of old.

The wild was considered a place that no animal should be allowed to live, and that the ones that did live weren't even really animals, but things that carried on in life with no purpose and no hope.

oOo

_Such a wonderful day_, thought Wakati. She was exhausted. But that was to be expected after giving birth to four cubs. She looked down at the cubs in between her forelegs, pausing from cleaning them to smile. Three baby girls and a beautiful baby boy. She licked them all in turn, trying to clean the fluids off them.

She reflected it would have been easier if she had other lionesses with her. There was only one other lioness in the entire pride, Umo. But she wasn't in the den now; she was out with her mate, Cheko, along with Wakati's mate, Urumu. The kingdom advisor had come to the den, saying that something needed the king's attention immediately.

The king. Wakati still had trouble believing it. She was _queen_. She had left her home by Urumu's side, Urumu a complete disgrace. She boiled with anger when she thought of the circumstances of the exile. All because Urumu was honest, refusing to become corrupt as the rest of the family had.

And the two of them had met Umo and Cheko, right here, in this den, the four of them looking for shelter from the rain. And they had made a pride, that night, deciding to stay together. They needed a home, and they needed others. And over just a few days, they had become as close as family. Closer.

And she had become _queen_. The entire land didn't have a lion in it. After three days their presence had been made know through the land. The animals had come to them, paying respects to the "royalty." None of them knew the slightest thing about ruling. But Umo and Cheko had both agreed that Wakati and Urumu were much more qualified to rule. It had been a challenge, ruling. But now, after a year and a half, every animal bowed to them, whether they had done so when the lions first arrived or not, and also regardless of the number of times Urumu loudly pointed out that he hated the act.

And now they had cubs. The prince, the heir, and three beautiful princesses. They were no longer a pride of four. And soon, hopefully, Umo would be with cub, and the prince would have a mate, or Umo's boy a choice from three lovely girls. Wakati smiled. The cubs didn't even fuss. She liked them tenderly, the sun setting in the distance. She finally stopped cleaning and moved her weary body so the cubs had access to her teats. It took all the strength she had to move. Birthing four cubs had spent her.

She was about to reach for a cub to draw it closer when she head a thud outside the den. She looked up and gasped. Mild-mannered Cheko lay on the ground, bleeding from gashes on his body. A long cut ran down the side of his face. He didn't have the strength to move. "Cheko!" gasped Wakati.

"Milady," he whispered, "I'm so sorry."

Another thud was heard as another animal fell from the top of the den, barely missing Cheko. It was the leopard, the majordomo that had come to the den asking for the king. The leopard didn't move. A lion landed on his feet outside the den. His black main, not Urumu's brown one as Wakati had hoped, was visible as he lifted his head. "R'laka!" he called. "Now!"

Another lion jumped down, accompanied by another, and a lioness that nearly stumbled and fell. The first lion started toward her anxiously, but the lioness waved him off. The second lion dropped a few leaves on the ground. The first lion took a leaf and pressed it down on one of Cheko's wounds.

"Well?" asked the second lion.

"Take half back up there. You'll have to reuse."

The second lion took half of the leaves and sprinted out of Wakati's sight. Wakati wasn't paying attention to the second lion, anyway. She was watching the third lion escorting the lioness into the den. "Luker," the lioness said, her voice strained.

"How long?" the lion asked.

"They're here," groaned the lioness. She sank to the floor. Wakati noticed how her stomach bulged. A contraction rippled across it. The lioness groaned in pain.

"What have you done to Cheko?" demanded Wakati. The lioness moaned again. "What did you do?"

The lion turned and hit her across her face. "Silence," he snarled. His eyes widened as he saw a cub attempting to grab hold of one of Wakati's teats. He snatched it away from her, but gently.

"Better be careful with that, Luker," said the lion, looking into the den for a moment before grabbing another leaf. "Or you'll need more care than this one."

"I know what I'm doing," snarled Luker.

"Give me back my cub," begged Wakati. She tried to push herself up but collapsed, exhausted.

"That's why we're here," said the lioness. Her face contorted in pain.

Luker began to turn the cubs over, checking their anatomy. The second cub he turned was the boy. "What are you doing?" demanded Wakati. "What did you do to Cheko? Where's Urumu and Umo?"

Luker shifted his gaze up to her, annoyance showing. "Easy, Luker," warned the lion outside. He had moved on to the leopard. "Want her alive." He looked up at the lioness. "As for your lion friend here, he should be fine. Not sure about the leopard. Lot of bleeding."

"We don't need to save him," said Luker.

"Is that what she said?"

"She's in no state to make decisions."

"She's always in that state and you know it."

"Luker," the lioness gasped, another contraction seizing her.

"Altir, get your ass in here," Luker snarled to the other lion.

"Alright, alright, keep your mane on." Altir left the leopard and walked over to the lioness, yet another contraction hitting her. "Luker, take one of those leaves and press it down on the biggest hole you can find on that leopard." Luker started for the leopard.

"The cubs," gasped the lioness. She groaned in pain. Luker stopped and turned for the cubs on the floor of the small den. He took one away from Wakati.

"No! My cubs!" said Wakati. She lunged feebly for Luker, only to have his claws rake across her face. She cried out in pain.

"The next ones will be deep enough to scar, lioness," Luker warned. He took the two leftover girls and out them next to the first he had taken, Wakati watching helplessly. Luker shoved the boy against her stomach, near the teats the cub had been trying to reach. "Enjoy him." Luker walked out to the leopard.

Wakati turned her head to Altir, who was standing over the lioness, the lioness's face contorted in pain. "Good, good," Altir said. "Push."

"I am pushing!" protested the lioness.

"Just a reminder. Good."

"Where's Urumu?" asked Wakati.

"What, the other lion?" Altir asked. "He's up there. With the other lioness. Gave me a heck of a time. Push."

"You didn't—kill him?" whispered Wakati.

"No, I—good, god, it's coming. Push. I've got it. Now the others." The lioness, who had her teeth gritted, opened them in a cry of pain as another contraction rippled across her stomach. Altir turned to Wakati for a second. "Sorry, what was that question again? Right. No, I didn't kill him. Hurried me, though. If he's lucky, he'll live. Lioness is fine, though."

Wakati was afraid. They had cut down her mate. This lion in front of her had done it himself. They would undoubtedly maim her as well. There was no reason for this madness. And they had taken her cubs away from her, all but one. She looked down at the cub, which had attached himself to her, drinking from her. The lioness gave birth to another cub, Wakati watching on. She had no idea what they planned.

She finally decided to take a chance on how nice Altir seemed and said, "I want my cubs back." He didn't answer, the lioness groaning as Wakati had spoken. She thought he may not have heard her. "I want my cubs—"

"_No_, lioness," said Altir. "Don't ask again. I know you're confused. Push. But I push can't explain right now. Come on, one more good one." The lioness groaned again with an intensity that had only been reached two other times. Another cub emerged, hidden to Wakati by Altir's body. "Good." The lioness breathed heavily, just as Wakati remembered doing. It was over.

"I want my cubs!" Altir placed one of the lioness's cubs in front of Wakati. "_My_ cubs!"

"Theses are your cubs," said the lioness, her head on the ground. Altir placed another cub in front of Wakati.

"They aren't!"

"But don't you remember just giving birth to them?" asked the lioness with a slight smile, still panting from fatigue. "You should clean them."

"Please," begged Wakati. "I want my cubs."

The lioness lifted her head up to stare at Wakati. Wakati got her first good look at the lioness's face and gasped. The lioness's eyes had a normal black pupil. Her iris was pure white. The whites of the lioness's eyes were black, as black as her pupil. "You don't deserve your cubs," the lioness said. "I don't deserve your cubs. No one does. You have no idea what power they possess. You can't. But I do. And I'll shape them into something your mind wouldn't believe possible."

"I don't care what you think they can do. They're _mine_. I love them. You can't just take them away."

"I have to. Or else they'll be lost again. And I won't live long enough to live through another cycle. I promise you, me and my friends will give them the best care possible. Take min, and love them as your own. As repayment for your loss."

"I want my cubs!"

"Altir walked out of the den. "Luker! Bring Zao back down here. We're finished here." Luker disappeared out of sight.

"I can't give them to you," said the lioness. "You will see them again. I promise. She will have all the respect for you that is possible."

Wakati tried to get up, falling back down after a moment. "I'm begging you," she said. "I love them. Please, give them back."

The lioness shook here head as she slowly stood up, her legs shaking from the effort. "No. But they will come back to you. You may not recognize them, but they will come back. I swear."

Altir headed back into the den. Luker entered a few seconds later, followed by a third lion. Luker and the third lion each gently picked up one of Wakati's cubs by the scruff of the neck. "Please," said Wakati. "You have no right to do this." Altir lied down in front of the lioness. "They're the princesses at least. The kingdom needs them," Wakati said desperately.

"These are the princesses now," said the lioness, nodding to her cubs next to Wakati. "They are the only cubs you ever had." She placed herself over Altir, then collapsed onto his back. Altir stood up, the lioness suspended on top of him. It was the only way she could make the journey, exhausted as she was. Altir picked up Wakati's last cub. The other lions exited out of the den.

"No," pleaded Wakati. Tears began to stream down her face, her sorrow breaking through her shock. "Please, I need them. They're my cubs. I love them."

Altir stopped and set down Wakati's cub. Her heart lifted with hope that was shattered as she realized he did it so he could speak. "You have her three cubs. Please, love them. I'm asking this of you personally. Please. And remember, at least you have your son."

Altir picked up her cub again and followed Luker and the other lion, walking past Cheko and the leopard's still, unconscious bodies. The lioness's tears flooded down her face as she watched her cubs being carried away in the moths of total strangers. Altir's tail swept out of sight. The lioness let out an anguished cry and lowered her head to the ground, weeping.


	2. Part I: History

**Part I**

Gaidi didn't know what to do. He figured he ought to find a pride. He'd been out of one for two years, he reflected. He sighed. Home wasn't the most pleasant thing to think about. But it was reassuring to think that he wasn't alone. He'd met plenty of lions who had left their kingdoms. Well, maybe not plenty, but a good few. _But_, he reflected sadly, _how many used to be princes?_ He looked around the savannah he was travelling through. It could have been part of a kingdom. But no, he thought. A kingdom was a haven. There were plenty of animals in kingdoms. In the wild like this there were few. It was a universal rule that all of the bad seeds were thrown out of the kingdom they had been born into, and never taken back, not anywhere. Gaidi had seen how it had sometimes led to the rejects creating kingdoms. They were generally dirty places, places that matched the lowlifes that lived there. Gaidi didn't like these kingdoms. There were a few places that had been made by outcasts that were decent, but they were the exception, not the rule.

He lowered his head back down to the ground. He wasn't bad-looking. His black mane was worn proudly, a few strands going against the grain to fall in front of his eyes. They didn't fall far enough to impair his vision; they only fell to about the tops of his eyes. For some reason, a good percentage of the lionesses he had met had thought the way his mane fell appealing. He assumed it was because it was a rarity. He didn't know, though. He'd never bothered to ask.

His body was muscular, having become so after two years of constant travel. There were two kinds of animals that he knew of in the wild: the strong and the dead. He had seen in his early days how horribly quickly animals died in fights and had their bodies devoured, no matter what race they were. There was a difference between hunting and fighting, at least in technique. The end result was the same. But few lions had learned to hunt, at least in Gaidi's experience. They preferred to find someone who would fight and almost certainly lose against the muscular superiority of a lion. Gaidi had learned to hunt. He preferred to not kill innocent animals. The herds were there to be eaten; eat them.

But even worse than eating leopards and cheetahs and even other lions was eating cubs. It had shocked Gaidi when he found a tiny corpse, its meat gone. He had vomited. Even more appalling was that the cubs might have been exiled. He had met three cubs who had been, three sisters, all of them about a year old. He had gotten them a carcass and kept going. He couldn't have a line of cubs following him. No matter how much he wanted, he couldn't save them all. One would have undoubtedly died, if not all three. And the three didn't trust him. They would have run off if he hadn't given his kill to them. He knew it was a way of life out here, eating others. It didn't make it any easier to get used to.

He remembered the first time he had met a lion cub. It had been a little lioness. She had burst into the clearing where he was at top speed and had stopped with a gasp when she saw Gaidi. The lion she had been running from had burst through the clearing almost immediately after her. The lion stopped when he saw Gaidi as well. Gaidi had immediately realized what was going on and had told the cub, "Get behind me."

The cub had done so. "She's gone," the lion had snarled.

"The cub is with me."

The lion had suddenly lunged toward Gaidi, then had stopped when Gaidi took a step forward. "You idiot! It's gone!"

Gaidi had turned and saw that the cub had run away. The lion had been trying to catch the cub, not Gaidi. He had turned back to the lion to receive a set of claws across his face. He had fought back with a violent intensity that the lion hadn't been ready for at all. It hadn't been long since his exile. He had sworn that no one would ever hit him again and not regret it. He had calmed down since then, but he had emptied plenty of his anger into the lion. He killed the lion. He finally limped away from the fight, one leg paining from a foolish, amateur mistake that he had been to inexperienced to avoid. But the lesson he walked away with didn't come until later when the cub came back. He watched, stunned, as the cub began to eat the lion calmly.

He realized, then, just what his exile had put him into, instead of what it put him out of. This was a whole new world, with a whole new set of rules. The world out here wasn't a cruel place, simply a merciless one. Gaidi would no longer be given more than one chance. He would be given just one, and sometimes not even that. He may have despised the system, but he was forced to live with it. It was only a cruelty to protect cubs out here. They lived if they were strong and smart enough. The others had to go. He accepted this and was terrified at how caustic his thinking was.

But the more the thought about it, the more it sadly made sense. The animals out here were definitely stronger than the ones in any of the kingdoms he had been in. They were most likely smarter, though it would be unfair to pit them against, say, a royal. Their stores of knowledge were completely different. There was no way for a fair competition. But still, Gaidi was almost certain that the animals raised here had more raw intelligence. They were forced to evaluate everything they did, making sure that they could eat while not being eaten, while in the kingdoms cub-killing was generally classified as the worst kind of murder. The cubs in kingdoms grew up happily, all of their needs met. The ones out here had nothing.

And Gaidi speculated on the wonders that could be done with them if their intelligence could be channeled into something other than simple food and survival. What if a kingdom were founded with the same laws that ruled out here? What if mating in that kingdom was strictly controlled, so that the ideal combinations were matched? A super-race could be created, for every animal, the animals being stronger and smarter than any others anywhere. Or even, considering the fact that felines could breed, no matter what their race, a super-race of every animal, a completely superior race, one that would dominate all the world.

Gaidi realized the utter foolishness of his vision. It could never come about, not by himself. He would have to meet others who understood his dream, who believed it, others of other races and of the excellent specifications the project would require. And the project would take generations of breeding. Even if a super-race were created, he would never live to see it. It was an idle fantasy, his surreal daydream that he used to console himself when he was tired of life and all of its foolishness, of how completely stupid animals were, and how he could do nothing. He would think of the magnificent offspring he would create, thinking of how the other pitiful races would bow down before it, before the mightiest animals ever to roam the earth, animals that had gone forth and imposed their existence on the rest of the unprepared world. They would tear down the systems of monarchy that had ruled everywhere for so long. They would impose their own hierarchy, and the animals, the pathetic races that had stayed the same for who knew how long, they would bow to this race that refused to stay stagnant, the race that wanted only to better themselves. And Gaidi would smile when he thought of this, despite how he knew the impossibility of his vision.

But he had dredged up the egotistic fantasy again, in complete seriousness, just six months ago. He had found a place like he had never seen. Several rectangular objects stood in the center of the savannah, the objects made of something that didn't mix smoothly with the environment. It was obvious that the effort to do so had been made, but the objects still stood out. Gaidi walked toward them, intrigued. As he approached, two objects rose out of the ground. They had long, cylindrical noses, the noses pointed at Gaidi. They didn't rise further than two feet off the ground. Gaidi stopped dead, seeing them pop up. He didn't move, and neither did the objects. He finally continued to the massive rectangles that had caught his interest. The objects followed his path for a few seconds before making a click, then disappearing into the ground. Gaidi continued on.

He walked toward one and put his paw against the side. It reflected the light back at him slightly. All of the objects reflected the light. There were, at an estimate, thirty of them. He walked around it, staring at it in wonder. Then, as he approached a niche, the object opened with a hiss as it broke the airtight seal it maintained. Gaidi jumped back, alarmed. The object shut again. Gaidi approached the niche slowly, the niche opening once again as he drew close. Gaidi didn't jump back this time. Instead, he walked inside.

The inside boggled his mind even more than the outside. It was cooler inside. He walked in and turned around rapidly as he heard the niche shut again. He went back toward it, the niche popping open again. Relieved that he could go back out again, he turned back to the inside of the object. There was a large variety of textures everywhere. He had never seen so many in one place. It felt slightly odd to walk. The short, blue grass he walked on gave slightly under his paws. Colors of every kind were to be found inside the object. There were very strange things all around him. He walked slowly through it, amazed at what he saw, trying to soak up every detail. A platform was held off the ground, flat on top, balancing on a thin, reflective pole. There was a large rectangular box that stood upright, much taller than Gaidi. There were more rectangular boxes hanging from the ceiling of the object, going around the place. There was a hole in one of the walls, leading to another room. The walls of the object were covered in flowers of a dark violet. Gaidi marveled at how long it must have taken to pain them, and with such painstaking repetition.

He tried to see what was on the top of the pedestal that was balanced on a pole. When he couldn't raise his head sufficiently, he put his forepaws on top of it to see the top better. He saw the way the objects were placed on it for a moment before it toppled over, unbalanced by Gaidi's five-hundred-pound weight. The objects crashed to the ground, Gaidi jumping back to avoid them. When they had settled he looked at them. There were slightly-curved cylinders that had their tops open. The liquids inside them fell out as they fell from the platform. There were large, thin circles that were slightly bent inward, and half-spheres, with one large half-sphere. The circles and smaller half-spheres had nothing, but the larger half-sphere spilled its cargo of plants. Small, thin objects, flat on one end and curving at the other, fell as well, reflecting the light as they fell. In addition, another thing flopped down, rustling.

Gaidi looked at the last object. It had many layers, the layers connected in the middle. He picked up one of the layers in his mouth, the rest hanging limp. He put it down, remembering how it had looked on the platform. He turned over the layer that he had picked up so that the object laid with its layers folded neatly in half. On the front layer there were several symbols Gaidi didn't comprehend. There was something that caught his interest more than the symbols. It was a painting that looked as if it had been taken right out of life, as if time had stopped and place a piece of itself on the layer. The painting seemed so lifelike. Gaidi, though he couldn't see the words, could see quite plainly that the animals in the painting were in anguish. The animals looked like hairless monkeys, a small spot of hair on the tops of their heads. They were screaming on a platform made by a piece of—of something that looked soft and was stretched across two wooden poles, which in turn were attached to wooden poles that crossed underneath the soft thing in an X. The hairless monkeys screamed in agony, their mouths open in a horrific scream that Gaidi could only imagine.

Gaidi tried to understand why they screamed. He couldn't read the symbols. He didn't know that the symbols told to see inside for the full story, the story that detailed the plague that was spreading throughout the world, destroying a race that had been so close to overcoming the last of its problems, a race at the peak of their civilization. Gaidi couldn't read the date: April 1, 2—. The rest was torn off. Gaidi had no idea of how sadly ironic it was that such death was reported to the world on a day that was meant for jokes. He simply turned over the layers, looking at yet more symbols, yet more paintings that captured life perfectly, save for a few that encouraged hairless monkeys to exchange numbers or pieces of paper for items of various value.

Gaidi's attention was torn away from the layered object by a beep. He turned his head toward the large, towering rectangular object that had emitted the sound. He got up and approached it. He looked at the handle that protruded from it. It was made of reflective material, like many of the things in the strange new world. He pushed against it and found it was cold to the touch. He put his paw in between the handle and the object, pushing his paw sideways so it would fit. Nothing happened. He pulled it out, pulling it sideways as he did so. A side of the rectangle opened, a blast of frigid air hitting Gaidi. The inside of the object was cold, colder than Gaidi had ever experienced. There were various things inside, some of which smelled wonderfully edible to him, others that made him nauseated. He turned away, the cold bothering him more than the smells attracted him. The house was already colder than he was used to; the cold from the object made him feel as if he was going to freeze then and there. He shifted his attention away from the place entirely and walked through the hole in the wall that led to another part of the object he was exploring.

This part of the object was colored blue as well. It seemed to have no features, save for two white cubes sitting next to each other. The place seemed to simply connect one part to another by way of a ramp that went up in increments. Gaidi went up it, finding the object had a second level. The upper part of the object had a yellow motif. There were several rectangular archways leading to other parts of the object. Gaidi ignored them; his nose picking up the smell of meat. He finally found the "meat" smell in a room. There were four skeletons in a room. They appeared to be those of monkeys. Gaidi assumed they must have been like the hairless ones he had seen in the paintings in the layered object.

The skeletons were completely bare. The bodies had died so long ago that bacteria had completely eaten them away. The meat smell came from the floor; the soft ground was soaked in blood that had now dried. Gaidi noticed in a paw of one of the skeletons was an object that looked exactly like those that had popped out of the ground when he had arrived, except this one had a much shorter nose. Each of the skeletons had a hole in them somewhere where a bone was missing, and then a much larger, more noticeable hole in their skull. The one with the object in its paw had a good portion of its skull missing.

Gaidi stared at the skeletons in wonder. He touched one. The bones, which had become delicate in decay, collapsed in a heap. Gaidi decided not to touch any of the others. He knew they had to be old; he had never seen a skeleton decomposed this thoroughly. He couldn't calculate the age; his mind said decades, but that seemed impossible. He didn't understand how the object he was inside could be maintained so perfectly while these bodies rotted away. But the vegetables on the platform he had knocked over were rotted as well, he remembered. But they hadn't gone that far downhill, and nothing in that cold rectangle he had opened was rotted. He searched around the strange world, looking for more answers. He didn't find anything that didn't bring to mind more questions. He finally decided to leave, on the way out stopping to pick up the many-layered thing with paintings.

He looked around a few of the other objects with the same results: a whole objectful of things he couldn't understand, accompanied by a few skeletons. None of the others had holes in them, though. They appeared to have died from something else. Night finally came. He didn't realize it until he walked outside. The sky had darkened, but the inside of the object was still bright. Another mystery.

He settled down for the night, and in the morning looked through the many-layered thing again. There were so many paintings of so many things, all of them looking as if they were stolen from life and put on the layers. He tuned over layer after layer, staring. He finally left it, thinking. These animals had done so much, it seemed. He assumed it must have been dens that he was in, and that they had made them. They had meat stockpiled, and it didn't rot. They could control light and heat. And there were so many things inside that house that he still didn't comprehend. But they had made them. They had achieved dominance. He didn't know how long ago it was, but it had happened. He could do it again. His dream of an ultimate race was toyed and tinkered with once again.

But the idea was just that: an idea. It had no real-life extension. So far he had only met one animal that he felt he could tell about it. He just kept it stored in his head, working with it when he felt like it. He was always walking, just walking from place to place ever since he had been kicked out of his own. It was a pathetic life he led, and he knew it. He half-wanted to go find a pride. He knew he should, at least. But he knew he would never be just accepted into a pride; he would be constantly watched, even after years of being a member. The only way a pride would trust him was if he did what he was expected to: kill the king and take the throne. Gaidi would prefer to leave out both of those options. He wanted a place like his former home, but without all of the dirty looks and beatings.

He had never really thought about what his family had done to him. He had grown up as inferior, being placed after the females. Not until he had traveled had he known that his parents, his family, had treated him like scum. He was a male. Males were lifted up, males were treated like the princes they were. There was no more tradition of kicking out the sons when they had reached a certain age. The males were kept in the pride, kept to rule the kingdom, possibly out of sentiment, but most likely because the kings did not want a return to the old days, the days where kings feared every rogue because of the absolute fact that the rogue had come for their pelt. There were fewer rogues now, but the ones that were there were criminals, hardened criminals that were even more feared than the rogues of old.

But Gaidi was not like them. The only way he was hardened was his heart to his aunt's son. He had been treated unfairly all through his life with his family, his sisters and cousins taking precedence, all five of them girls. His parents had insisted that they loved him, that he got just as much love as they did, that the reason they punished him harshly was that he was a prince, and going to be king, and that he must know how to act.

Lies. All of it, lies.

Gaidi smiled as he got the last of the carcass, hugged his parents after they had hit him for "mistakes," told them how sorry he was that he had disobeyed them and how much he loved them. That last part was honest. He loved them, and he believed them and all of their "punishments." Talking too loud. Coming home too close to sunset, or worse, after it. Taking meat offered from the other cubs when he complained of his hunger. The punishments were just small things when he was a cub. Reprimands, or being cuffed as a reminder. But it got worse he grew. Beatings. The beatings which he abhorred. By his mother, by his father, by his aunt, by his uncle. He buckled down under them, took the blows he knew he deserved.

But one day he decided not to take it. He had been found "spying" at the waterhole when he had only gotten a drink. It was his mother that caught him in the horrible act. She was in a terrible mood. She had simply yelled out "Sneaking!" he had drawn his head back from the water, alarmed. "How many times have we told you to keep your nose out others' business?" The other animals that were there, two young, love-smitten leopards, had looked at the scene, surprised.

"I wasn't!" Gaidi protested angrily. It was the truth; he hadn't even known the couple. He was sure they knew him, though. The prince. The prince that was beaten, shoved around as if he were nothing. His mother's accusation angered him. He was beginning to doubt some of the things they punished him for. They had become more and more unfounded in their reasons. But they beat him anyway.

"Don't you lie to me!" his mother yelled. She swung her leg toward his face.

"No!" he yelled, surprising himself. Shocking himself even more, his own leg had moved up to block his mother's with a loud thwack.

His shock had been nothing compared to hers. She stared at him, mouth open. She turned away angrily, stalking into the grass. Gaidi hung his head. He knew he would be punished. He had looked up to the couple as their movement attracted his attention. The couple had stared at him a moment before the male had said, "Good for you." Gaidi had stared at the two before walking away himself, away from his mother.

It certainly hadn't seemed good for Gaidi when he had come home. He saw the looks on the faces of his sister and cousins, the same look every time he had done something his parents deemed wrong. What he had not expected to see was his mother's tear-streaked face staring at him as entered the den. He saw an emotion in them he had never seen directed at him before. Fear. Gaidi felt the same emotion as his face suddenly turned to his father. His uncle and aunt were behind his father, staring at him in shock. Their degree of shock didn't touch the amount of fury he saw in his father's face, or rather, his eyes. His face was emotionless, that cold, emotionless mask he used to hide his anger. "Your mother is crying," he pointed out unnecessarily, his voice level.

Gaidi swallowed. He had planned to come back defiantly defending his actions. All of these plans withered away instantly in his fear of his father. All he said was, "I see, sir."

"Do you know why she is crying?"

Gaidi wasn't sure what to say. It was certain that there would be a beating for this. He didn't know what would alleviate it most. "No, sir."

"You will look at me when I speak to you."

"Yes, sir."

"Your mother is crying because you scared her by what you did. Do you remember it?"

"I don't know, sir." He had defended himself. That was all. But he had never raised so much as a toe before.

"You did not allow yourself to be punished."

"Sir—" The word was out before Gaidi could stop it.

"Yes?" Gaidi's father asked. His cold, hard eyes burned into his son. "You were about to say something."

"Sir . . . sir, I wasn't spying. Honestly."

"But why did you not allow the punishment?"

"But sir, I did nothing to deserve—"

"You are not the judge of what you deserve. I thought that was made quite clear to you. You were to take the punishment. If there was no cause, you would have brought it to my attention. You take whatever punishment we give you." He stared at Gaidi. "You have something bothering you."

Gaidi was silent for a few moments before saying, "Sir, it's just that—that some of these punishments seem—unnecessary."

Gaidi remembered so well how his father's voice had become yet more steely and oh-so-dangerous. "Unnecessary?"

"Yes, sir." There was no taking back what had been said.

"And that was why you did what you did at the waterhole?"

Gaidi bit his lip. "Sir, it just seemed a little unjust—"

"_You will not stand in the king's den and preach to him _JUSTICE!" Gaidi cowered. His father never, ever yelled, not until his anger raged out of his tight, firm, unbreakable control. His voice was punishment enough for Gaidi when he forced his anger to be subdued, but now his fury had spread to his entire body. "You know nothing of justice! You are to obey us! Our—word—is—_law!_" He appeared to regain control of himself again at that point. "You had no reason to fight back against your mother."

"But sir, I didn't—"

"Silence." The word carried more menace than it ever would have if yelled. "You know you were to take the punishment she would have given you. My intentions were to give that punishment to you myself, right now. I imagined that your guilt would be more than enough punishment for the grief you had caused your mother. I imagined that it was a mistake, what you did. Something that reared its ugly head just that once. But your insubordination is inexcusable. You do not attempt to shift the blame from yourself to others."

"Bullshit." Gaidi's eyes widened as he heard the voice, and widened further when he realized it was his.

Gaidi's father's mouth became one hard line. "I'm sorry?" he finally said.

"Nothing, sir," Gaidi said hurriedly.

"I distinctly heard a word that I most certainly didn't teach you come out of your mouth."

Gaidi was silent. His father shook his head. "I never dreamed it would have come this far. Your behavior is inexcusable. There is no place for your actions. Your disobedience has been menial. Something for casual punishment. But this . . . You have made yourself a danger. You fought back. That is not to be taken. Not lightly, not at all. You will be punished, with the according severity for your actions."

Gaidi realized he had stopped breathing. He hung his head, his eyes tearing up in anticipation of the pain of the beating. All he could think about was how angry his father was. He honestly felt repentant. But feeling wasn't enough. Punishment must etch the feeling deeper. It was one of the first things his father had taught him. Gaidi repeated the wisdom to himself as he said sadly, "Yes sir. I'm ready."

"Outside," his father said coldly.

Gaidi looked up with surprise. "Sir?" He couldn't believe it. Not even in the den, but outside, in front of the whole kingdom?

"I do not want to get blood on the floor of the den."

The words rocked Gaidi. No one had ever drawn blood, no matter how hard they had hit him. It was always with claws sheathed, just being beaten. Gaidi was terrified. "Sir . . ." He wasn't the only one who was shocked. His aunt has swallowed noticeably, but said nothing.

"Outside." Cold. Unyielding. Uncompromising.

"Sir . . . Father . . . please . . ."

"Outside. Now."

"Father, please, I'm begging you, not with claws—"

"_Outside_. _Now_."

Gaidi walked outside, tears streaming down his face, past the pride outside. He hadn't seen their faces, but he knew they simply stared. Just another beating. He finally stopped at his father's command. He brought his head up to look at the kingdom, his tears blurring his vision.

Then the first blow landed.

He roared out in pain as his father's claws tore through his back. He fell to the ground, the pain of the blow eliciting sobs from him. He heard the small shriek from one of the lionesses, quickly silenced.

His father's claws tore through his pelt again, slicing muscle. And again. And again. The horrible torment seemed to have no end. Gaidi feared for his life. When his father finally finished, Gaidi couldn't move. There was too much pain. His father simply walked away silently, leaving behind the shaking mass of blood and gashes that was his son. Gaidi watched the sun go down, more miserable than he had ever been, completely alone in his agony.

And that was how it had always been, and still was. Himself, completely alone. He kept his own council, having only shared his feelings to a decent extent with two others, the first because she was the first to show him kindness, the second because he had trusted her absolutely.

He remembered the first so well. Keyah. His cousin. And, he was certain, his mate-to-be. She began to comfort him after that incident. They bother were three. Kindness was a new and wonderful thing to Gaidi. The love she showed him in the one kiss she had given him was so much more beautiful than the kindness. But he never retuned that kiss. He had been afraid to. If his parents had found out, there would be another incident like the waterhole fiasco. Although the beatings were always less severe than that one, from that point on they had involved claws. Gaidi had healed with few tears, thankfully.

But then the beatings had ended. His relationship with Keya came to a complete stop. All on his fourth birthday. His aunt had a cub. A boy. The new prince and heir, declared so by Gaidi's father. Gaidi had said nothing when his father had said with joy, "A boy. My heir." Gaidi still said nothing as his father turned to him and said, "And as for you, may you never set paw in my kingdom again! Get out! I never want to see your pathetic form again! Ever!"

Gaidi turned silently and walked out of the den, brushing Keyah out of the way. He obeyed his father's last command. He walked to the borders without a word, crossed them, and never looked back. He recalled the last thing he had said to the king, just the night before, and in complete and total honesty.

"I love you, Father."

He still remembered those words bitterly. His time away from his former home had given him wisdom. He realized neither of his parents felt love for him. The truth had been rammed home when he had gone to his first kingdom, and also his last. What he had seen in the wild had disgusted and horrified him. He wished for the safe, lawful confines of a kingdom.

He went to the first one he found. He went to the den and did not humbly ask for acceptance into the pride. He humbly begged. His weakness was pathetic. He was half-starved from his lack of knowledge of how to hunt and his squeamishness of killing another predator. He convinced the king to let him stay. He was given his first meal he had in over two weeks. The lionesses slowly began to accept him, at least as much as they could over the course of two hours.

And then he had seen the king with his son. He had stared at the two of them, both laughing as they walked into the den. "I love you, Dad," the cub said as he embraced his father's stomach as the king sat down.

And then the words that Gaidi had never heard before, "And I love you, son." He stared at them, watching them, pieces clicking together in his mind on all the extensions of their actions, all the truthfulness in their words. The king turned to him at this point and asked, "Gaidi, are you alright?"

He wasn't. Tears leaked from his eyes as he stared at the two, breathing heavily. He ran a paw over his face. The nausea increased as more and more of what he had missed hit him. All of those loving moments with his sisters could have been his. Should have been his. He had loved them, but they never, ever loved him. He got unsteadily to his paws, the king asking "Gaidi?", but no sound reached Gaidi's ears. He slowly staggered out of the den. A few meters out he vomited copiously. He left the kingdom and never returned. He hadn't even spent a day.

Two years in the wild had hardened him. He had finally broken down the barriers that his parents had lifted up, torn down the mental inhibitions against violence and sex. He did not kill without reason, but he no longer shied away from violence. He had mated with a number of others. He felt no shame about any of it. He had only one emotional weakness, one which he knew of completely and absolutely, and also that he knew would never be fulfilled: fatherly love.

And now he wondered where he should go next. He should find a kingdom; it would be the sensible thing to do instead of constantly courting death out here in the wild. If a kingdom would accept him. They still treated him like they would any lion from the wild; as a criminal. By nightfall he had reached no firm conclusion. He found a spot of grass that was softer than the others, lied down, and drifted into the easily wakeable sleep of a rogue.


	3. Part I: Meeting

It was the latter half of the day. Gaidi knelt low in the grass. The scenery was beautiful; he noticed it as he looked away from the herd he was eying. A stunning, crystalline mountain rose up in the distance, maybe only an hour or two's distance away.

He shifted his view back to the herd that was grazing in the savannah. Zebra. Nothing like zebra. Excellent eating. He slowly crept toward them. He wondered idly if they were black with white stripes or white with black stripes. It was amazing how centuries had gone by and still no one knew. If the zebras knew, they weren't telling.

He estimated that he had come close enough and broke cover, rushing at the herd. Almost immediate he heard the scream of "Lion!" He wasted no time in leaping upon a zebra, the herd dissolving into chaos as they stampeded away from him. He sank his teeth into the neck of the zebra, tackling it to the ground as the rest of the herd ran away. It was a young female, doomed to a short life now that Gaidi had her. He held on, suffocating her as she thrashed, trying to free herself. The thrashing slowed, then finally stopped. Gaidi held on a few moments longer before letting go. He dug into the still form eagerly, assuaging his hunger. Just another example of how pathetic his life had become. Walk, sleep, gorge. All there was to it.

"That sure looks like a nice carcass," said a hollow, dead voice. Gaidi looked up to see a lioness walking toward him. She lay down a distance away and said, "It would be a shame if someone were to take it."

"It would be," said Gaidi. He continued to stare at her, the lioness staring back. "You plan to take it?"

"I'm not hungry."

"You plan to take it?" he repeated.

"No." She sighed. "Isn't it a pity we live in such skeptical times?" she remarked in the same dull, deadened tone.

"It's the wild. It's always dangerous," he said curtly. "What do you want?"

"Just to talk. I thought you might be nice." She sighed again. "I don't blame you for not wanting to be around me. I'm not exactly a mood-lifter."

Gaidi knew that the last statement was most certainly true. The lioness was depressing. She seemed to have never seen a positive thing in her life. He expected her gloom to dissolve into tears at any instant, yet her beautiful blue eyes showed no sign of tears at all. It seemed that she was simply a naturally depressing lioness—or possibly someone who had been born and raised in the wild.

Depressing as she was, however, she certainly was beautiful. Such a lovely face, and a body that was quite desirable. It didn't sway Gaidi. One of the most beautiful lionesses he had known had nearly killed him multiple times. She was the only reason Gaidi had been able to survive, teaching him how to fight.

"What's your name?" Gaidi asked out of curiosity.

"Aria."

"And what makes you think I'm friendly? For all you know, I might just decide to have my way with you and kill you when I'm finished."

"You wouldn't do that," she said, a slight bit of assurance moving in with the utter misery in her voice.

"I'm a rogue. I kill others. And it's far to easy to kill a prider like you."

"Prider?"

"You're no rogue. No rogue has that much fat."

"It's muscle, mostly," she said, arrogance replacing the sureness—yet she still had that depressing overtone.

"Mostly. And there's fat, prider. Weak fat."

"There's no need to be so disagreeable," she said sullenly.

"I don't trust you."

She sighed. "Alright. I guess I'll go then." She stood up and began to walk miserably away.

Gaidi watched her go, feeling guilty. She seemed so miserable as it was. And he had just pushed her away. _It could be a trick_, he thought. If it was, it was excellent. She seemed so lost in despair. The guilt only increased as he watched her go. It wasn't as if he didn't want her company; it was pleasant to talk to anyone who wasn't trying to kill him. He finally spoke up: "Are you sure you aren't hungry?"

"Yes," floated back as she continued walking away.

"Look, I don't know if I can finish this all by myself. Why don't you help me with it?" He knew he probably would regret it as the hunger pains came later, and would begrudge the effort of hunting again. But it seemed so inhumane to turn her away.

"Really?" she asked, sorrow still etched into her voice.

"Really. Please, come back here."

"Alright," Aria said sadly. She turned back to Gaidi and lay down opposite him. Gaidi noted the continuous way she lay, ready to spring at a moment's notice.

She was afraid of him.

No, not afraid. Merely distrustful, as he had been of her. He would have to work for Aria's trust, as she his. That was, if she stayed long enough for trust to be established. She might just eat and leave, go back to her pride. She probably thought of him as she thought of all rogues, going her pride to kill the king and take over. She had plenty of reasons to distrust him, even if he was completely honest with her. For all she knew, he could be trying to use her simply to get safe passage to her king.

_One step at a time_. "Go on. Have some," he said, nodding toward the carcass.

"Fine," she said glumly. She tore a strip off and began to eat. Gaidi did the same. He looked over her as she continued to eat. He couldn't help but admire her body. His disparaging comments about fat barely applied. She had some, but, as she had said, it was mostly muscle. Her pelt was completely unscarred, held firmly over her frame. It was pure white in color, the setting sun giving it a reddish tint. It still had quite a way to set, but he felt fairly sure that when it left and the mone shone, her pelt would be revealed to be pure white. He looked over her lithe body, more than pleased with what he stared at, at the firm body, the well-groomed pelt, at the blue eyes that seemed to stare straight through him—

Staring at him.

He suddenly realized Aria had stopped eating as he looked at her, or rather gawked at her. He looked back to the carcass, embarrassed, and resumed eating. He tried to rationalize his feelings, telling himself truthfully that it was natural to stare at a lioness like her, especially for one in his position. He was lonely, he had no mate. He had found no one who he felt he could stay with and be happy with. He had met many lionesses, many in his emotional position, and almost all willing to share their bodies with him. The relationship would last only one night, maybe two, rarely longer.

But he didn't take advantage of them. He was firm on that. He enjoyed their company, with or without sex. He obviously preferred the latter, but never did so without consent. Rape was something every kingdom seemed to hold as immoral, and as one of the worst acts. He set for himself a decent moral standard, decent by general judgment. He left the lionesses alone if they wished to be so. Most of the time he never saw one. Lionesses were rarely exiled, and the number of cubs in the wild that grew up to be lionesses was scarcely larger than the number of exiled lionesses, if it was larger at all.

Still, Aria was a rogue. She had a pride, she wasn't used to treatment from rogues like him. She was treated civilly, and wasn't expected to crouch down and offer her rear to every lion that came by. It was something Gaidi had so little experience in now, being out of touch with a kingdom for so long except for occasionally passing through one. He hadn't actually conversed with a prider in so long. He was going to remember his manners, forget his urges, and treat her like a prider would expect to be treated, may the ancient and disregarded gods help him.

He looked back up at her to still find her eyes on him. "Like it?"

"It's different," she remarked in her despairing voice. "But you're probably used to better." She took another bite.

"Not really. This is one of the better ones. Not as stringy as normal zebra."

"You'll just be disappointed when you get your next one," she said. "And that probably won't take too long, seeing as how I'm eating some."

"Uh . . . I guess. But look on the bright side. I get the joy of your company."

"If you want to think of it as a joy."

Gaidi didn't say anything to that, but continued eating. Aria was right when she said she was a downer. He was beginning to feel depressed just looking at her. She swallowed a few more bites and laid back politely. Claws out, Gaidi noticed. Not much, but visible. Gaidi continued to gorge, enjoying the sweet flavor. The sun went still lower in the sky, Aria's pelt becoming redder than ever in the light.

Gaidi tried to strike up another conversation after a few minutes. "So . . . why aren't you with your pride?" He mentally kicked himself. If she was just exiled . . . well, it would be a touchy subject, at best. It would more than explain her mood.

"I just wanted to be away for a while. And I saw you. You're decent at hunting. I thought I'd see if you were nice. I wouldn't have been surprised if you'd killed me."

"Oh." So _depressing_. "So, not an exile?"

"No. I just wondered if you would mind me. I was tired of all the happiness they kept trying to force on me. I'm not the happiest animal. You may have noticed that."

"Um . . . Yes." More eating, more swallowing. "So . . . you have a pride?" The sun faded over the hills, the moon revealing what the red rays of the day hadn't—her pelt was truly pure white.

"Yes. not really a pride, though. More of a group. It's too small for a pride.

"More like a family?"

"Yes. I suppose. I get the depressing genes."

"Any reason why you're not . . . um, happy?"

"Can you think of a reason to be happy?"

"Well . . . you do have your health."

"I'm still dying every day, same as you."

"Family?" he offered.

"Not much of a family, if you want to call it that."

"Well, you do have your—um, body."

"Which you won't stop looking at."

Gaidi checked himself in the middle of another unconscious glance, which he realized he had still been doing, despite his determination not to. "Sorry. I didn't—"

"Go ahead and do it. I've never been looked at like that before." Curiosity had enetered her voice.

"Excuse me?"

"Go ahead. It's different."

"It's not polite."

"No, it isn't," she mournfully agreed. Gaidi looked down at the carcass, picking at it a bit more. His hunger had been satiated, and he didn't feel quite like gorging right now. He was full enough to last a day, maybe two if he didn't exert himself too much.

He looked back up at Aria to see her spread out on her back in the moonlight, staring at the stars. Gaidi got up and walked by her and lay down on his back. "Beautiful," he remarked.

"Yeah," she said. "If you like stars." She turned to look at him.

"Not exactly what I was remarking on," he said with a smile.

"Do you mind if I stay tonight? It's kind of a long way back."

"I would love for you to stay here with me. Under the stars."

"Remember how they used to be thought of as the gods' eyes?" she asked, looking away. "You can't sleep without being spied on. Always watching."

"Let them watch," Gaidi whispered in her air. He kissed her on the side of the face, a quick, gentle lick. She didn't react, other than her mouth opening slightly as she inhaled. He kissed her again, longer. She turned her head to look at him, guilting him again. He was pushing himself onto her, exactly like he said he wouldn't. Like it or not, he had adapted to the rogue lifestyle. He knew he had.

But Aria simply stared. Then she said, "I didn't expect that quite so soon." She turned her head back to the stars. "But it's my fault, probably. I should realize I'm dealing with a rogue."

Gaidi felt barely any guilt at the statement. He'd heard too many others about rogues. "let me make love to you," he whispered. "Here. Now. Under the stars. I want you, Aria."

"I'd probably disappoint you," she said glumly.

"I'm willing to find out."

"I'm not." She rolled over onto her side so her back was to him, a gesture of finality. Gaidi sighed. He took second best and snuggled a bit closer to Aria before closing his eyes to drift off to sleep.

oOo

Gaidi felt a small breeze on his face. Then, abruptly, it was gone. He kept his eyes closed, purring slightly as he moved a little. The breeze returned, and left moments later. He opened one eye sleepily. He saw Aria laying next to him, her face close to his.

And she was smiling.

She blew air at his face again, a small burst, blowing his mane that hung over his eyes slightly into his face. And then _giggled_.

"What are you doing?"

She grinned as she said, "It's so much fun." She blew back his mane again.

"Um . . . you must be really bored."

"Nope." She blew at him again.

"Look, Aria—" She suddenly dissolved into giggles. "Could you just stop that? It's annoying."

Aria grinned. "Okay."

"Are you alright?" he asked cautiously.

"Yup."

"You just seem so . . . happy."

Aria grinned. "That's me. Happy, happy, happy."

Gaidi had seen mood swings before, but something like this . . . from depressed, possibly even suicidally so, to literally bouncing with happiness. _Bouncing_. Aria was like a little cub. Exactly like a little cub, her front end crouched down with her back end raised high, her amber eyes dancing with laughter, her white pelt gleaming in the sunlight—

Sunlight? Gaidi bolted upward, eliciting a laugh from Aria. The sun had worked its way well up into the sky. He should have woken up much sooner. Sleeping late could have been the thing that killed him. All that was needed was a silent enough anima, and out would go his throat. And Aria would be dead too, he realized guiltily. He could have been the death of both of them. An easy meal for an animal. He was disgusted. If anything, the leftover carcass would have definitely attracted animals.

He turned to the carcass and received a jolt when he saw that it had been stripped. Dogs had been here last night—wild dogs, jackals, hyenas, someone—but they had been _here_. Gaidi trembled slightly to think how close he had come to death. He slowly asked Aria, "Did anything happen while I was sleeping?"

"Yup. Buncha wild dogs came for good. I told 'em you wouldn't mind if they let you sleep. And they were happy, too. They were real quick about it. You know you snore? Not a lot, but it's there."

Gaidi ignored the last comment, thinking about what she said before. "Wild dogs don't just do what you ask."

"They were real nice about it," she said happily. "They're all scared of the lions around here. They do what we ask sometimes."

"You threatened a pack of wild dogs?" Gaidi asked incredulously. "All by yourself?"

"No, stupid," she said playfully. "I just said they could have it if you stayed asleep. They were already scared of us."

"Us?"

"Mm-hmm. They thought you were a regular." Aria giggled. "And you slept _so_ long. Sleepyhead. You must have been tired."

Aria on the other hand, reflected Gaidi, seemed to have no end of energy. He got the feeling that even if he slapped her across the muzzle, she'd still grin and giggle. What in the world had happened to her? "Just a little tired."

Aria lay down on her back next to him. "And you snore. Did I tell you snore?"

"Yes."

She giggled abruptly. "Still tired?"

Gaidi smiled as he lowered his head to hers. "I'm not too tired for some things."

Aria grinned. "Do that and I'll rip your guts out," she said cheerfully.

"Uh . . . right," said Gaidi, backing away not from the statement, but from the unnerving amount of cheerfulness behind it.

"Hungry?" Aria asked innocently.

"A little. I'm good for now."

"But you got so little last night. Here, I'll go get you food," she said, bouncing up.

"Look, you really don't need to—"

"Oh, but I haven't eaten for three days! We can share!" she bounded out through the savannah.

"Uh . . . you shouldn't . . ." Gaidi sighed. "Forget it," he muttered. He laid his head back down. He couldn't do anything until she came back. Standing her up like that would be just rude. She was, after all, getting food for him. And she was the reason he wasn't dead right now. Aria seemed to have influence in the wild just by being a member of a nearby pride. The influence of the king must have been fantastic.

Ticking off Aria could kill him, he realized. An entire kingdom looking for a member that had hurt a member of the royal pride. He'd never be safe anywhere near the kingdom.

Any further relationship with her was shot.

The safest thing to do, he decided, would be to eat with Aria, make a little small talk, thank her, and be on his way.

He though about what a shame it would be when she came back. She seemed to be kind of nice, despite those mood swings . . . and the threatening . . . and the fact that she was quite capable of having him dead when she wanted it . . . yeah. Maybe he wouldn't miss her so much. He heard rustling and looked up to see Aria's ruby eyes coming through the grass.

"How do you plan to get an entire carcass back here on your own?" he asked.

She continued walking. "I dragged it back here," she said, a slight growl in her voice. "It's in the grass over there."

"You _dragged_ it all the way here?"

"I'm strong."

Gaidi shrugged and began to push himself up. He was knocked off balance by Aria pushing on his shoulder with a paw. He fell on his back. "Hey—" He stopped abruptly as Aria placed her forelegs on opposite sides of his chest.

"Eat later," she said, her voice filled with violent passion. She kissed him on the cheek, a long lustful lick.

"Aria—" he began, shocked.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? Me? Take it." She pushed her chest close to his, kissing him again. "I'm yours."

It was all Gaidi needed. After the carnal act he lay down next to her as she rolled over onto her back, staring at the sky. "Wow," Aria said quietly after a while.

Gaidi smiled down at her. "That was your first time, wasn't it?"

"Yes," she said just as quietly.

"Wonderful, isn't it?"

Gaidi nuzzled her gently. "What did you think?" He kissed the side of her face lightly.

". . . Wow."

"Yeah, wow." Gaidi looked up to see Aria walking toward him, accompanied by Aria. He immediately looked down to see a third Aria on her back, who he had been talking to. "A-Aria?"

"Yes?" said one of the approaching lionesses in a hollow, dead voice.

"But—she—you—"

The other approaching lioness giggled. "He doesn't have a clue."

Gaidi turned back to the lioness on the ground. "Aria, what's going on?"

"_I'm_ Aria," said one of the standing lionesses, her voice depressed. "She's Aya. But I don't blame you for not knowing," Aria said miserably. "No one would probably care if one of us were gone since we've got twins."

"Wait—what?"

"We're triplets, you stupid lion!" said Aya angrily. "Identical. Gods, why are you males all so damn stupid?"

"Okay, okay, calm down."

The unnamed lioness burst into lioness."Calm—calm down!" She laughed again.

"Go to hell," growled Aya.

"Aya doesn't calm down," said Aria glumly. "No more than Theluthi does."

"Or than _you_ cheer up," said Aya accusingly.

Gaidi stared at them. All three were identical; same white pelts, same wonderful bodies. But the emotional range was amazing. They seemed to be stuck in one mode of thinking. And they seemed to be incompatible, yet at the same time they carried on a conversation without the slightest hint of aggression (save Aya). "Um . . ."

"What?" all three asked as they turned to him. They weren't identical, he realized. Aria's eyes were sapphire-colored, Aya's were ruby, and Theluthi's amber.

"What went on . . . um, well, last night?"

Aya snickered evilly. "You got tricked, that's what."

"I found you," Aria said. They were back home, and they decided to come out to see you. And then Aya decided to have us switch places while you were asleep. And now you probably hate us for deceiving you."

"No, not at all," said Gaidi hurriedly. Aria seemed close to simply walking to the nearest cliff and throwing herself off. "I'm just—confused."

"Look stupid," said Aya angrily, "Aria found you last night, called us both here, switched spots with 'Luthi, and who switched spots with me."

"And mother is gonna _kill_ you when she finds out what you did," said Theluthi happily.

Aya got up and walked angrily to Theluthi. "You will _not_ tell her."

Theluthi, unconcerned by her sister's anger giggled. "Nope. You will." Their voices were different noticed Gaidi. Just slightly, but enough to be noticeable, if you looked.

Aya snarled as she turned away. "All because you two were too scared to ask for it."

"Mother will be furious," said Aria glumly. All three fell silent.

Gaidi said hesitantly, "I'm sorry if I got you into trouble. What if I came back and explained—"

"You'd have quite a bit of explaining to do," growled Aya.

"It's your head Mother'll want," said Aria.

Gaidi's mouth went dry. He had more than half a mind to leave now, while he was still in one piece. "What if you didn't tell your mother?" he suggested.

"Mother would know," said Aria. "She practically counts all of our hairs to see if there are any missing."

"Why are you even taking orders from your mother?" asked Gaidi recklessly. "you must be my age, for Aiheu's sake."

"We don't take orders," said Theluthi. "She's just protective. If anything happened to her goddesses, someone would die."

"Maybe if he was a bit cuter Mother would let him off," said Aria. Theluthi dissolved into giggles as Aya's face soured even further.

"I doubt it," muttered Aya.

"I don't know," said Theluthi. "I like him. Besides, I thought you said it was 'wow,'" she teased, Aya's face turning into a mix of rage and embarrassment even Gaidi might have found slightly amusing if his neck wasn't on the line. Aya looked up at him, a kind of wistfulness in her eyes.

_I can only make it worse by running, _he thought miserably.

"What if," he proposed hesitantly again, "I came back? With you three? To explain . . . 'wow.'"

"Yay!" said Theluthi, executing a little hop. "Come on—"

"'Luthi—"

"It'll be fine, Aya. And there might even be blood. You like blood, right?"

". . . I do like blood," she said grudgingly.

"Come on!" Theluthi yelled happily, scampering happily ahead. Gaidi followed hesitantly. Aria and Aya brought up the rear, Aya shaking her head.

oOo

**A/N: Fun fact: Gaidi's original and terrible name was Jambazi.**


	4. Part I: Dysfunctional

Gaidi finally saw what he decided was their destination. There was a lioness lying on the on the ground, alone. Gaidi decided the rest of the pride was elsewhere, probably near some kind of shelter. Near the lioness were three lions who were obviously the rulers of the kingdom. It wasn't unheard of to have three different rulers, but Gaidi guessed two were princes at best. Gaidi barely paid any attention to the lions, however; his eyes were fixed on the lioness. There seemed to be a law that said every lioness in the kingdom had to be beautiful.

"Wow," he breathed. "Who is that?"

Theluthi giggled madly while Aya made a noise of unmistakable disgust. Aria said glumly, "That's our mother."

Gaidi missed a step. "Awkward."

"Can you see any lioness without thinking about screwing her?" growled Aya.

"Like you didn't enjoy it," said Theluthi with a trace of smugness. Aya snarled at her. "'Wow,'" quoted Theluthi with a giggle. Aya shoved her hard.

A lion turned as he heard the group approaching. "There they are," he muttered. The other two lions turned, along with the lioness. Their mouths opened slightly as they saw Gaidi with the sisters. One of the lions, a large, light-maned one, began to stride angrily toward Gaidi. Gaidi easily guessed the first sentence out of his mouth.

"What do you want, rogue?"

"He's fine, Uncle Luker," said Aya angrily, putting herself between him and Gaidi.

"That's what you think. You don't know how this scum would take advantage of you without a second thought," snarled Luker.

"Oh, I think she does," giggled Theluthi.

"Shut up!" snapped Aya.

Luker stared at the two of them for a moment before his eye widened in realization. He snarled as he swung back a claw to slash across Gaidi's muzzle.

A foreleg was placed in front of Luker's holding it back. "Easy, Luker." Gaidi looked toward the smaller, black-maned lion that had appeared, his brown eyes looking over Gaidi.

"Do you have any idea what he's done?" hissed Luker.

"Nope. And I doubt—"

"He took Aya!"

"Wait—took? As in _raped?_"

"Exactly," snarled Luker.

The lion turned to Aya, shock on his face. "Is this true, Aya?" he asked quietly.

"No!" she said. "I mean—well—I asked for it."

"And I see he's already convinced you it's your fault," said Luker angrily.

"No!"said Aya. "I asked. I—I wanted it," she said quietly, as if ashamed.

The second lion turned to Aria and Theluthi. "She did," said Theluthi.

"We told her not to," said Aria sadly. "But…"

"And it was just—_wow_. And I'm sure he'd be more than happy to do Mo—"

"_Shut_ UP!" snarled Ay.

"Let's just kill him and get it over with," growled Luker.

"Luker," cautioned the second lion as Theluthi said "Yay!"

"He did it to Aya! Of all of them, her!"

"I _asked_, Uncle Luker."

"She just threw herself at him," giggled Theluthi.

"He has no right to touch you," declared Luker. "Any of you."

"Luker, he didn't know," said the second lion quietly. "He has no idea—"

"It's no excuse, Altir."

"He can't have had any idea what he was getting into—"

"Uh, excuse me?" Luker and Altir turned to look at Gaidi. "I—I kind of . . . well, they told me how you—felt about it. I just came to apologize and—and to take the punishment, sires."

"Then you will die," snarled Luker. Gaidi swallowed nervously.

"Luker, can't you restrain yourself?" asked Altir. "He—"

"He _raped_ Aya!"

"He _didn't_. And on top of that, he wants the punishment. He could have run—"

"We would have hunted him down."

"—but he didn't. It's the _merciful_ thing to do, Luker. If anything, Aya should be scolded."

"Altir, your mercy—" Luker fell silent as the lioness, who had been lying down and watching the conversation the whole time, materialized next to him, along with the third lion.

"Aya was raped?" she said in a cold, hard voice. Gaidi shuddered as he saw her unnatural black-white-black eyes. The lion next to her seemed quite as angry as Luker, if not angrier.

"Yes," snarled Luker as Altir said, "No." There was a pause.

"Well?" asked the lioness. "Which is it?"

"Mother," spoke up Aya, "I asked for it."

"You requested him to have sex with you."

". . . Yes." Embarrassment seeped into her voice.

"Well we can't very well punish him for taking what he was offered, can we?" said the lioness, her voice still icy.

"Hudima—" stared Luker angrily.

"_Can we?_" repeated the lioness firmly. Luker growled, but it was annoyed, nonthreatening. Luker seemed to practically roll over for her. She continued. "There will be no punishment for your act, lion, but I suggest you leave."

"Mother!" protested all three of the girls.

"I _suggest_ he does. His welcome has been worn out already. I let you know, lion, that you will be subject to our rules if you stay here for _any_ period of time." Hudima turned and began to walk away. "Zao, Luker, Altir," she summoned authoritatively.

Luker and the other lion Zao, immediately followed Hudima, both of them glancing back at Gaidi, anger on their faces. The third lion, Altir, paused by Gaidi, saying to him, "Really, you should go." Gaidi's face unconsciously fell, despite how many times he told himself he didn't need a pride, that their rejections didn't hurt him. Altir sighed and said, "Of course, there's probably a lot of things rogues should do, aren't there."

"Not so much as you'd expect, sire," said Gaidi respectfully.

"Aria, please stay with—er—"

"Gaidi."

"Please stay with him. I'll want to talk to him later." Altir turned and ran to catch up to the other three lions.

"Goddamn nosy bastards—" Aya launched into a long list of expletives she was obviously quite acquainted with. Gaidi stared at her, shocked not by the language, but by the _prider_ it was stemming from. Theluthi giggled. Aya turned to her, annoyed. "Do I have to shut your ugly face?"

Theluthi pointed at Gaidi. "Look at his." Gaidi tried to hide his surprise, only making it worse. He looked away, embarrassed.

"Go to Hell," said Aya. She walked away angrily, heading for a soft spot of grass amidst the rocky terrain. Gaidi turned to see Theluthi happily walking off in another direction. He turned back to Aria to see her staring at him glumly.

"I suppose you're stuck with me," she said. "Unless you just want to leave. I wouldn't blame you."

Gaidi smiled at her in a failed attempt to cheer Aria up. "I think I'll stay a little while."

Aria sighed gloomily. "Alright. I suppose you'll want a tour, too." She began to walk away, Gaidi following her.

oOo

The mountain loomed in the distance. Aria was lying on her back, sunbathing, Gaidi next to her on his stomach. The "tour" hadn't exactly been the most exciting thing in the world. Gaidi expected to be shown around an entire kingdom, be shown the enclaves where groups of animals lived, be shown the "natural wonders" of the area (he had seen too many to care anymore), and be shown the kingdom's humble den. He didn't expect to be taken to this hill and just have Aria lay down and look up at him.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Here we are. Tour's over."

"Huh?"

"There's the only thing worth seeing." Aria gestured toward the mountain.

"The mountain?"

"The mountain."

"Well . . . it is beautiful," admitted Gaidi. It seemed like a gem in the way that it literally sparkled. Gaidi had no idea that anything could reflect that way. "What makes it so sparkly?"

"Crystals. But I wouldn't be surprised if Mother decided to lie to me."

"Huh? Why?"

"Oh, she might find it funny to trick me."

"Aria . . . you really shouldn't think everyone's out to get you."

"They aren't," she said, sounding even more depressed than usual. "I know they love me. They worship me. But that doesn't mean I'll be happier."

"Oh come on. You can't just go through life thinking it's one big drag." Gaidi paused, then looked toward the mountain. "I mean, look at that. It's beautiful. Doesn't it make you feel anything?"

"You really like it, don't you?"

"Yeah. It's weird. I've seen plenty of junk that animals think is pretty, but this . . . this is unique." He stared at it, its many-colored sides hypnotizing him. "What did you say it was? Crystal?"

"Yes."

"What's it like up close?"

"I don't know."

Gaidi jerked his head away. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"I've never been there. Never have Aya or 'Luthi. We aren't allowed there."

"Why not?"

"Mother said no. And she barely ever does. She would freak out if any of us went near there."

"She doesn't let any of you near it _ever?_"

"She and Luker and Zao and Altir can go there. Just not us."

"She didn't give a reason?"

"Oh, she gave a reason."

"And?"

"You wouldn't believe me. Altir probably wants to talk to you about it. We'll get to go there someday. We'll know when."

"You shouldn't be deprived of that."

"I don't feel deprived. But I'm probably wrong," she sighed.

"You're—"

"It's really no use arguing with me. I won't get any happier."

Gaidi fell silent at the remark. He stared at Aria a little longer, looking up and down her body, then stared back at the mountain. It was odd, he reflected. Rape could be quite easily achieved for any species, as there was nothing to get in the way. He could even do it to Aria, right here, right now. But the thought was one of the furthest from his mind. Look, don't touch. Imagine all you wish but _do not touch_.

And yet in the wild, rape was frequent, even though sex was often consented to. But if there was hesitation, that was often the case. Rape, or at least an attempt. The wild was one of the most desolate places an animal could be; Gaidi had decided that long ago. There was no reason to live. They were outcasts, all of them, even the cubs that did nothing wrong. Any pleasure in that life was wonderful. Sex was a godsend to them.

Gaidi's mind wandered back to the ruins—he could find no other word, despite the lack of "ruin" at all—where he found those skeletons, skeletons of hairless primates that were so advanced. They had worn items over their bodies. At first he thought it was merely to cover them from heat and cold, but having dens that that could adjust the temperature to their liking nullified that need. Could those items be for sex, or rather a lack of it? He had met lions who had felt insecure about proportions, something he had never worried about through sheer apathy. Could that be what the items for? Something to cover up the animals, to make all feel better?

Or was it because of how far down their society had fallen?

Were those items a safeguard against rape? Something that they needed to have, lest some ill-willed male drag them to the ground for his pleasure? But even the males wore items. Either that or every member he had seen in that community was female; that was possible, though doubtful. So even males covered up. Were the animals ashamed of their bodies? All of them?

Gaidi didn't know. There were so many unanswered questions he had about them. Half of the conclusions he had come to about them made no sense. He was glad he lived in times where things did make sense. Then he nearly laughed of his absurdity. Yes, perfect sense. Leaving cubs out here on their own, not even accepting them back into kingdom, saying that they were rogue filth. Kingdoms leaving him out to dry, over and over, despite the best manners and intentions. Kings _still_ kicking out their own sons from some kingdoms, all because they were male.

Yes, they lived in screwed-up times indeed.

And he was one of the ones on the bottom of the pile.

Two years as a rogue. Two years. He was six now, and if he was lucky, very lucky, he would live to see the ripe old age of twenty. He remembered how there were tales where fourteen was an old age—absurd! Now there was plenty of time to live. Time to spend in the hell of the wild. Two years had undoubtedly changed him into a rogue—a rogue with manners, but a rogue. He missed the kingdom life, minus his parents and aunt and uncle. No risks, safety . . . friends. Keyah.

_If only I'd had more time with her_. She'd given him so much. Kindness. Friendship, when he had none. That first kiss . . . _Just a little more time_ . . .

"Gaidi?"

Gaidi involuntarily jerked at the voice. He found his cheeks slightly wet and hurriedly wiped it before turning. It was Altir. "Yes, sire?"

"Are you alright?" Altir asked gently.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"I, uh, notice the mountain got you, too."

"Yeah, it's—it's really something."

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes, sire. I've just been around Aria too long, that's all."

Altir chuckled. "Yes, I expect that'd do it."

"What did you wish to talk to me about, sire?"

"You can drop the 'sire.' I'm not king."

"Princes still carry the title, sire."

Altir smiled. "I'm not prince, either." He sat down next to Gaidi, relaxing.

"You're not?"

"Nope."

"Then who's king? So I won't slip around them. Luker, was that his name?"

"Yes, that was his name. And the other is Zao. But they aren't kings. None of us are."

"Then who rules the kingdom?"

"This isn't a kingdom. No one rules. We just live here."

"But Aria said I'd be punished—"

"She was right. Zao and Luker want your head."

"And I said Mother would be angry, not them," said Aria gloomily. "And she probably still is."

"Aria?" said Altir.

"Hmm?"

"Would you mind letting us talk? Privately?"

"I'll be quiet."

"I really did mean alone. Please, Aria?"

"Alright," she said, standing. "I can see you don't want me." She shuffled off.

"Aria—" called out Gaidi.

"What?" floated glumly back.

"Nothing," said Altir. "Keep going." Aria continued on her way, head hung low.

"Si—Altir, look at her. She _wants_ to stay."

"I know. But she'd tell her sisters everything. I really do want to talk alone."

"But _look_ at her. She just looks so—so—"

"So sad?"

"Yes."

"I think she's faking."

"What? How can you—"

"Not too much. But some of it. Gaidi Aria has never been anything but depressed. She's been that way her entire life. She hasn't been happy once. I felt awful about her earlier, but I've realized there's nothing I can do. It's the same for the other two. Aya can't stop being—well, angry, no more than Theluthi can stop bouncing around. I've learned not to feel too bad about it."

"I guess you'd have to," said Gaidi. "_Always_ sad?"

"Always. And she was right. Hudima wants you dead, too. Even more than Zao or Luker. You very nearly got yourself an early death."

"Hudima? The lioness? But she defended me."

"She did the honest thing. She'll be as heartless as she wishes—but she'll be honest. And all three of them think you just took advantage of Aya." Altir rolled onto his back. "Hey, first star," he said, pointing it out as the sun began to fade.

"First—but it was midday . . . how long have I been here?"  
"Some time. I'm not the only one the mountain gets, it seems." Altir turned over onto his stomach to look at it. He looked up at Gaidi with a smile. "Go ahead. Relax."

Gaidi lay down, staring at the mountain with Altir, watching the setting sun's rays infusing the crystals with a slight yellow tinge. "So they want to kill me."

"Hudima would rather—well, yes, the end result would be dead."

"Do you think I did it?" Gaidi asked, a slight measure of acidity creeping in on his voice. "Just some rogue who screwed a prider for something different?"

"I wish you wouldn't say that."

"What, screwed?"

"Rogue." Gaidi's head looked toward him with amazement. "You're not like them. Not all the way, anyway." Gaidi was awed. "I mean, would a rogue have just turned himself in like you did?"

"So . . . what do you think?"

"Honestly, I think you just hinted a little to one of them what you'd enjoy and Aya, reckless as she is, gave it to you full-on. And you did what any rogue would do. You couldn't help it, you were probably raised that way."

The words stung Gaidi, as much as the others touched him. "So just another rogue with another lioness."

"Theluthi said you were very polite about it. And you're not just 'some rogue' I hope. You seem like a decent lion. I wonder how many cubs there are out there that are actually decent and grow up like you."

"I didn't grow up out there."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I just assumed . . . Do you mind if I ask what—"

"Yes," Gaidi snapped. "Very much."

Altir fell silent, staring at the mountain. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "I didn't mean to intrude—"

"I know."

"I—I don't suppose you'd accept if I offered you a place here. With us."

It was Gaidi's turn to be quiet. "I know it sounds odd. I know most—rogues are supposed to be kept out in the wild. Just let them kill each other. I'd hate to send you back to that. I know it must sound odd to you, but I like you. I know, I'm old enough to be your father and all that, and the same for the others. There might be an age difference, but I'd like you to stay. You could be one of us."

"'One of us?'"

Altir smiled. "You'd probably think I'm crazy now. We worship the goddess, me and Luker and Zao and Hudima. That mountain over there—that's her temple. It's a beautiful place. Crystal, all of it, from the top down. Fitting for a goddess. And we're waiting here for her return. I suppose you would even say we're guarding it. It's what Luker takes it as, anyway. But it's . . . it's more of a family than anything."

"Altir—"

"Look, I'm not trying to pressure you into this. I'd understand if you'd prefer the rogue life. You're not tied down out there. I'd just like to know that you're safe. I'd had to live out there for a while, I know what a hell it is out there, never knowing if you're safe. You seem like you're not worth that. Look, even if you leave, I'd like it if you came back, just once in a while." He looked at Gaidi. "I—Gaidi?" he asked gently

Gaidi had turned his face away. "I want to be alone," he forced out.

"Alright," said Altir. "Just give it some thought, please." He placed his paw at the base of Gaidi's neck gently. Gaidi lowered his head, his body shaking. Altir hurriedly broke it off. He walked away, taking one last look at Gaidi.

Gaidi silently sobbed himself to sleep after he was certain he was alone. The want he had felt for Altir's company shocked him: he didn't expect the feeling, let alone _tears_. Altir's request filled him with such hope.

_Home_.


End file.
